


gamer food, with love

by magichistorian



Category: A3! (Video Game)
Genre: CitoIta Week, Cooking, Fluff, M/M, late night gamer date, sharing cultures through cooking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:40:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27345988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magichistorian/pseuds/magichistorian
Summary: “Like...crackers and cheez whiz?”Citron closes his eyes for a moment, probably savoring the imaginary flavor of crackers and cheez whiz. A real gaming staple, the two of them agree.But…“Nope. Not crackers and cheez whiz.”Well, now Itaru is completely stumped. What else would they be eating?“Omi has finally bought my missing ingredients!” He exclaims with a whisper. “So I will make you a snack I liked very much back in Zahra.”[CitoIta Week, Day 5: Nighttime]
Relationships: Chigasaki Itaru/Citron
Comments: 8
Kudos: 60





	gamer food, with love

**Author's Note:**

> i missed citoita week ;-; 
> 
> have this at least,,,i have another couple WIPs for em ill try to finish,,,

“I-ta- _ ru _ !” On the last syllable, Citron slaps his palms onto Itaru’s shoulders, startling his attention away from his game and drawing out an embarrassing squeak. 

“Citron!” Itaru spins around, dramatic despair all over his face. Behind him, his computer displays a  _ game over _ message. “ _ Why _ ?”

“Games rot your brains,” He offers. 

Itaru rolls his eyes. Citron may be right, but he doesn’t have to like it. “Yeah, at this point there isn't anything left to rot.” He goes back to the game, but there aren’t any matching rooms open. Damn.

“Itaru has no brains left! Very sad.” 

“It sounds even more pathetic when you say it,” Itaru says with a sigh. “But really, why are you even up? It's late. Or, early I guess,” He says, glancing at the time displayed on his computer. 2:33 AM. 

It’s silently judging him, he’s sure. 

“I could sense my skills were needed,” Citron explains, his smile hiding the fact that his answer was clearly bullshit. Itaru has had enough sleepless nights to recognize them on somebody else. He doesn’t say anything, though.

Itaru finally switches off his computer, swiveling the chair around. 

“And? What amazing skill will you be showing me tonight?” Itaru asks, his tone light and teasing. If he knew better, he might call it flirty. 

Before Citron can even open his mouth to answer, however, Itaru’s stomach answers for itself with a loud growl. Citron bursts out in laughter for a second, before slapping a hand over his mouth. 

Too late though- the rustling sound of sheets gives away the fact that Chikage is already awake. Damn that guy and his light sleeping habits. At least he would be awake if somebody broke into their room to murder them...though in that oddly specific and completely unlikely scenario, Chikage wouldn't necessarily try to save Itaru. F in the chat for poor Itaru Chigasaki. Murdered in his sleep while his roommate just watched.

Maybe he  _ should  _ start doing his laundry. Or not. 

“Sorry, Senpai,” Itaru whispers, not sounding very sorry. “Citron doesn't know how to be quiet.”

Citron nods solemnly. “In my country, to be quiet is a sign of weakness.”

Chikage groans and says something that sounds like, “You’re going to be a pain tomorrow,” and lays back down. 

Itaru turns back to Citron and says, “C’mon. Let’s go get something to eat.”

Citron nods in agreement, and they stand up to leave. 

They creep out of the room, making finger guns and whispering  _ clear!  _ at every corner like the nerds they are.

They eventually arrive in the kitchen, and Itaru makes a beeline for the cupboard where his stash of instant ramen is hidden. 

He likes to think he’s successfully hidden it from Sakyo, but the sad truth is probably Sakyo just thinks he’s too pathetic to bother with.

“Wait, Itaru!” Citron whispers, and he stops. 

“You don’t want cup noodles?” He asks with genuine surprise. They  _ always  _ have cup noodles. It’s like, their thing. Citron says it reminds him of family dinners at home. He doesn’t get why, but refuses to admit it makes his heart skip a beat regardless. 

“I am always thinking about my love, the cup noodle mistress,” Citron assures. “But I actually had something else in mind.”

“Like...crackers and cheez whiz?”

Citron closes his eyes for a moment, probably savoring the imaginary flavor of crackers and cheez whiz. A real gaming staple, the two of them agree. 

But…

“Nope. Not crackers and cheez whiz.”

Well, now Itaru is completely stumped. What else would they be eating? 

“Omi has finally bought my missing ingredients!” He exclaims with a whisper. “So I will make you a snack I liked very much back in Zahra.”

Itaru can’t stop himself from wondering,  _ For me? Why?  _ But before he can actually ask Citron is already digging through the not-cup-noodle cupboard. 

(Itaru honestly doesn’t know what’s in half those cabinets. Maybe he should visit the kitchen more often.)

Citron brings out a few spice jars and places them carefully on the counter so they won’t clatter. He grabs a pack of meat from the fridge, and from the corner of the counter, an onion and a covered bowl. 

Itaru peers at the plastic-covered bowl. There’s an unfamiliar pale grain soaking in water. It looks maybe somewhere between cornmeal and rice. He wiggles the bowl a bit and watches the stuff swirl around. 

“What’s this stuff?”

“Bulghur!” 

Itaru looked at the stuff. Bulghur sounded more like the name of some fantasy town in one of his games than this stuff. 

Clearly noticing his confusion, Citron continued. “It is a grain used in cooking. Many dishes in Zahra use it as an ingredient, including the one I am making right now!”

Oh. That’s pretty cool.

“You can go wait now.” Citron took him by the shoulders and steered him away from the counter. 

Itaru obliged, walking around to the back of the counter to watch without being in the way.

With confident hands, Citron drained the water from the bowl, then unpackaged the beef and put a portion of it in with the grain. 

Pulling out a cutting board from one of the cabinets, Citron began chopping the onion, dicing it into tiny, even bits. Once it was all cut up, he slid a portion of it off the board into the bowl. 

He added a pinch of each salt and pepper, the only spices Itaru could recognize out of the bunch. 

With his hands, he reached in and kneaded it together, until all the onion and wheat and meat was mixed together. Then he quickly rinsed off his hands and opened up a cupboard to pull out something that looked like a small blender. 

Apparently he was looking at it hard enough to notice, because Citron kindly explained that it was a food processor. 

With a spoon Citron scooped the mixture into the food processor and covered it with the lid. 

He gingerly reached out and pressed a button. 

It turned on with a garishly loud grinding noise and they both jumped. Citron’s hand shot back. 

They both stared at each other, silently waiting for a sign that their activities had woken their resident yakuza man. 

When an entire minute of absolute silence passed without so much as a creak, they both relaxed, before breaking out into hushed laughter. 

“We still have to use the food processor though,” Citron said with a pout. 

Itaru leaned across the counter, getting up on his toes to reach the food processor, and pressed the button. He let it run for a good couple of seconds before straightening. 

“Itaru!” Citron gasped. “That was very daring of you!”

Itaru grinned. Citron grinned back, and started the food processor, running it as long as he dared. 

They did that a few more times, each running it a little longer than the other and bursting into fits of laughter as they did until Citron finally decided it was done. 

He returned it to the bowl then pulled out a cooking pan. He dumped in the remaining onion and meat, and turned up the heat. He also took out a jar full of small white nuts, adding a large handful. 

“You’re really good at this,” Itaru said as the meat began to sizzle and a pleasant smell filled the kitchen. 

“Thank you! I cooked this many times for my brothers and now I can make it with my hands asleep!” 

“Is that so?” Itaru asked, then suddenly switched to another question. “Hey, what’s this dish called?”

“It is called Kibbeh!” Citron said. “It is a very common dish in Zahra, as well as many nearby countries.” 

Itaru repeated the name, feeling how the syllables sat on his tongue as he watched the delicate curls of steam rise above the pan. 

Citron broke him from his thoughts suddenly, jamming a spice jar at his face. 

“Smell!” 

Itaru did as ordered. It was warm, and reminded him of Omi’s pumpkin pies, yet more savory. 

He nodded his approval, and Citron measured out a spoon and added it to the pan. 

Then he offered another spice, which smelled sharper than the last; an earthy, nutty scent. 

Citron added that one too, along with a bit of salt and pepper and stirred it around, breaking up any clumps of beef. 

He let it cook for a few more minutes, smacking Itaru with the spoon when he tried to sneak a taste. 

As the pan cooled, Citron brought over the dough they made earlier. 

“We have to make these into balls now,” Citron said as he scooped it out and kneaded it. He tore off a piece and handed it to Itaru. 

Holding it between his palms, Itaru rolled it until it formed a lumpy, egg-sized ball. 

Citron handed him another, and they repeated it until they had ten, mostly consistent-looking balls. 

They cheered, quietly, high-fiving with their sticky hands. 

Citron brought back the now-warm pan, handing the spoon to Itaru. 

“I will make these into little bowls, and you will fill it with the filling!” Citron explained. Itaru nodded in understanding, baring his spoon like a weapon. 

With careful fingers, Citron kneaded one of the balls into a cup shape, then held it out to Itaru. He took a scoop of the filling and nudged it into the dough. 

Citron then twisted the ends into points and set it on the cutting board. 

They did that with all ten, until the pan was nearly empty. They ate the leftover filling with their fingers, giggling when onion bits stuck to their chins. 

As Itaru took the pan and bowl to the sink, Citron pulled out a tall pot, and put on the still-warm burner. He filled it halfway with oil, then stuck in a thermometer. 

Itaru walked up to peer inside, but Citron yanks him back. 

“Careful!” He warns. “Very hot.”

Standing at a safe distance to avoid any oil, they diligently eye the thermometer as the little red line creeps up. 

Tongs bared, Citron picked up one and gingerly dropped it in the pot, flinching away from the splash. Itaru watched it bubble with childish enthusiasm, hissing when a drop of oil stung his arm. 

Citron cooed sympathetically, nudging Itaru back before dropping in a second. 

After a few minutes of careful supervision, Citron offered Itaru a slotted spoon, holding it out like it was a sacred tool. 

Itaru received it as dramatically as he could, gasping and bowing to really amp up the act. 

Then he scooped up the cooked kibbeh, dropping them onto a plate lined with a paper towel. 

They repeated this for every two until they were all cooked and stacked neatly on the plate. The wisps of steam and the warm hearty smell made Itaru’s mouth water. 

Itaru reached out for one, but it was so hot he immediately jerked his fingers back. Citron laughed, and Itaru gave him a halfhearted scowl for it. 

“Even children know not to touch hot food! Your brain is surely rotten.” He softened his stern look when Itaru pouted at him, and said, “Aw, don't worry, they will be cool soon, and then I will feed you one!”

  
  


They waited for about twenty minutes, scrubbing clean and rinsing off all their cooking tools. 

It took a little longer than strictly necessary, as they kept getting distracted blowing soap at each other. Itaru was certain he had suds in his hair, but Citron kept laughing when he asked so he couldn't actually tell. 

Once everything was laid out and drying, they returned to their cooled meal. A faint trail of steam still curled above them, but they were safe to touch, so Citron brandished a pair of chopsticks and picked one up, offering it to Itaru. 

He hesitated a second, feeling a prickle of heat in his cheeks. Then he tipped forward, taking a bite. 

It was delicious. The filling was rich and juicy, the hearty spices much unlike his normal diet yet they had a sudden, homey feeling. The softness of the inside contrasted perfectly with the crispy fried outside, and he could barely stifle an embarrassing groan. He really hoped he didn't look one of the girls in those weird food eroges, but it was too good to really care. 

Citron had a warm smile. “It is very good then?” 

Itaru nodded vigorously, eagerly taking another bite. 

Once Itaru finished his, Citron used the chopsticks to grab his own, nodding in satisfaction as he took a bite. 

“We did good! It tastes like love.”

“How does something taste like love?” 

Citron tsk’ed like it was a silly question. “Anything made with somebody that is special to you will make anything you cook taste better. And these taste very good!”

If he wasn't before, he was definitely blushing then. He buried his face in his palms, groaning, “Citronnn! That’s embarrassing!”

Citron burst out laughing and ruffled his hands in Itaru’s hair. “Do not be embarrassed! Our power of love is very strong.”

That definitely didn't make him any less embarrassed, but he did free his hands to shove another kibbeh in his mouth, ignoring the grease streaking his fingers. 

Once he finished -which took a few moments because he was savoring it- he prepared to open his mouth and say something painfully embarrassing when the sudden flare of all of the living room lights being flicked on made them both jump. 

Standing there in the doorway, wearing his pajamas but looking no less terrifying for it, was Sakyo himself, looking very displeased indeed. 

“Would you two like to explain what you're doing, making an awful racket at nearly four in the morning?”

Itaru at least attempted to look bashful, a feat which Citron didn't even attempt as he announced, “We were hungry!”

Sakyo raised an eyebrow. “Which required you to cook an entire meal from scratch as noisily as you possibly could?”

Citron nodded without hesitation. Sakyo put his hand on his temple, clearly trying to reign in his temper. 

“Fine, just- just get to bed. You can finish your  _ whatever _ tomorrow.” 

His tone of voice made it clear that wasn't a suggestion, so they bowed their heads and slunk out of the kitchen, Citron grabbing one last kibbeh to shove in his mouth as they left. 

Sakyo followed them as they left, ensuring they weren't going to get up to any more  _ mischief _ . 

Citron walked Itaru to his room first, bypassing his own door. 

“Thank you for cooking with me. It is something I enjoy very much that I miss from home. I am glad to have somebody to do this with again.”

Itaru ducked his head to hide his blush, even though it was already shielded in the darkness of the hall. “Thank you for inviting me to join you. I’m glad I’m worth something so special to you.”

“Of course you are! It is a tradition of sharing with people that are important. And you are very important to me.”

“Citron-”

“Go to sleep!” Came Sakyo’s booming voice and they both flinched. 

“Well, goodnight.” Itaru said. 

“Goodnight!” Citron agreed. 

And they parted, Itaru silently creeping back into his room, a warm feeling still flooding his chest. 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to my lovely Aziza for suggesting kibbeh! she is the food princess


End file.
